


Warm

by SgtMac



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, First time hook-ups, Oops, and the fall out of said hook-ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtMac/pseuds/SgtMac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Emma responds to a call about the Queen drinking heavily in Storybrooke's version of a seedy bar, Regina and Emma are forced to come to an understanding about a night of an unexpected passion which they'd shared. A night, which has left them both reeling, and wondering what it means for them both as individuals and perhaps as something together. SQ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm

"Who called you?" she demands without looking up as the other woman approaches. Regina is slumped down in her chair - lower than a woman of her high station should ever be. As if that isn't bad enough, Regina can practically hear her mother barking in her ear, asking her why she's allowing this self-humiliation. She tries to ignore her, though, instead staring down at the mostly empty tumbler of whiskey, glaring at it like it might suddenly surge up and try to attack her.

"About four different people, actually," Emma murmurs. More delicately than usual, she seats herself down next to Regina and then gestures towards the bartender to give her whatever it is that Regina has. "They claim that they've never seen you in here before and well, I think you can probably understand their concern, Regina. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the terrifying Evil Queen is drinking cheap scotch whiskey next to them in a seedy dive bar."

"Isn't this seedy dive bar your favorite?" Regina asks haughtily, her eyebrow arched in judgment; even drunk off her royal ass, she's kind of an asshole.

Or maybe drunk, she's especially one.

"Yep," Emma answers, nodding at two of the regulars who are watching from across the bar; In fairness, this place is only seedy by Storybrooke standards - in the real world, this place is about as seedy as a soda fountain. With a sigh, she redirects her attention back to the Queen, back to the wild-eyed fear that she sees written in broad strokes across the woman's always stunningly beautiful face. "Which I think is exactly my point."

"Mm."

"So what's wrong?" Emma asks, trying to sound cheerful in spite of her question.

"I don't believe that I said that anything was wrong at all, Miss Swan."

Emma bristles at the more formal use of her last night, but pushes on, "You're out drinking in public."

"I'm drinking, yes. Which, to my understanding, is not crime worthy of altering my sheriff about. I'm not drunk. If you must know I'm not even drinking all that heavily." She gestures towards the glass. "This is only my second or perhaps third one. I'm mostly just…people watching."

Emma clocks the response…because completely sober people usually know. Instead, she says – mostly to herself -, "My sheriff?" When Regina replies with a glare (and, to be honest, she had expected that), she redirects, "So you're people watching by staring down at the bar-top."

Regina sighs dramatically, unable to stop herself from letting Emma know just how annoyed she is. "What do you want from me, Emma?" There's a subtle but still noticeable slur to her voice that makes her think that this probably isn't just number two. Or three, for that matter.

"You to look at me," Emma answers softly, her head lightly tilted.

"I'd rather not," Regina answers, sounding more than little bit petulant.

"Regina, come on; we're going to have to talk about what -"

"No! No, we're not. What you think happened, it never happened."

Emma chuckles at that. "Oh, I'm pretty sure that it did. I still have a bite mark on -"

She's stopped cold by a glare icy enough to freeze hell itself.

Emma puts her hands up and out, defensive, but trying to stay in control. "Well, I wouldn't have to talk about it out in public if you'd, I don't know, maybe answer my calls and allow us to try to discuss what happened between us like we're mature adults. How's that for a plan?"

"It'd be a great plan except you're not a mature adult," Regina reminds her as she reaches for the glass and then takes a large swallow of the whiskey, not even wincing at the typically harsh liquid. "And we have nothing to talk about outside of understanding that it was a terrible mistake that we never should have made." She slams the glass back down on the bar-top.

There's a long moment after that (it stretches and stretches_ and then Emma replies softly, the hurt in her low voice clear and unmistakable, "Okay, I can accept that."

"Good."

Emma's head lifts. "But that doesn't answer why you're brooding about it. I mean, if we're saying the problem is me, and the whole thing was a mistake, why are you so upset about it?"

Regina's jaw twitches for a moment before she roughly grits out, "Who said I was?"

"In public. Alone. Drinking."

"Maybe I'm thinking about your dearly beloved mother," Regina tells her, lazily smirking at Emma before taking another hearty swig from the glass. "You know she drives me to alcohol."

"Have you been naked with her lately?"

Regina's response to Emma's challenge is immediate and sharp; her dark eyes flash dangerously and she practically growls in reply, "Are you trying to be overheard?"

"No, I'm just trying to get a reaction out of you."

"I can melt the skin off your face if you'd like a reaction."

"That might be closer to an over-reaction than a reaction, but it is you, Regina so who knows," Emma chuckles as she accepts a glass. One quick tilt towards her lips and it's half-empty.

"Yes, it is. But an over-reaction, Miss Swan was what happened with us."

"Oh? So something did happen between us? Well, I'll be damned, look at that? We're finally making progress." Emma challenges her once again, tilting her glass in a mocking salute.

"Yes, obviously something happened. Otherwise I would hope you wouldn't be filling up my voicemail with inane demands to discuss our serious judgment lapse," Regina shoots back at her.

"I have to admit, I'm rather amazed at just how good your vocabulary is while drunk off your ass, Your Majesty."

"Again, this is only my third or fourth glass. I'm not even buzzed."

"Nor were you that night."

Regina scowls and finishes off her drink, signaling for another.

Emma does the same, and then turns to face Regina again. "So even if you don't think I'm capable of it, why don't we try to act like adults and talk about why it happened."

"What would be the point in that?"

"Because figuring out if there's more to it than just -"

"Lust, Ms. Swan?"

Emma grins at that, deciding not to let Regina use her own name against her.

Because Regina knows that she can, and it's long past time to change the game.

Not that Regina is willing to accept such a thing; she sneers in response, her dark eyes blazing with seething anger. "Wipe that ridiculous look off your face or I really will melt it off."

"I can always tell when I've climbed under your skin." She then wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "And now, I guess I can say that I can tell when I've gotten under your clothes, too."

"You truly are the classiest of the Charmings. And your father was a shepherd who probably had his first sexual experience with a dirty sheep somewhere behind his wooden shack-house."

Emma nods her head and smirks. "Because that was classy."

Regina shrugs and accepts another glass of whiskey, glaring at the bartender when he gives her a worried and rather scared look… like he thinks that maybe he should tell her that he doesn't want to serve her anymore out of fear of what she might be capable of when she's filthy drunk.

"So, now that you've insulted my father's…sex life, would you like to take a quick swing at my mother and her honor as well so that maybe we can that bit of fun out of the way and get down to talking about why exactly we got down the other night?"

"We fucked, Emma," Regina grinds out. "Not that a big deal."

"On the contrary, I'd say it's a pretty big deal. Damned big."

"You're acting like a needy child after her first time. I expected more from a woman with your sexual experience level."

"Did you just call me loose?" Her tone is intentionally light like the words don't sting at all, but there's something deep and wounded in her eyes that points out the lie of her response.

Regina's voice softens just a bit. "Of course not; I don't sleep with loose women."

"Until three nights ago, I wasn't aware that you slept with women."

"Is that what this is? Are you having a crisis of sexuality?"

"No. You're not my first, either. What I'm trying to figure out here is why I'm the one who isn't in crisis and you're the one who seems like she's trying to run away."

"I'm not running away. Certainly not from you."

"Bullshit. You're scared of me."

"I liked you better when you had zero confidence in yourself."

Emma looks down. "Oh, don't worry, I'm still pretty low on that scale. But I have been around the block a time or two, Your Majesty; you're certainly right about that. And you know what all that getting around has taught me? It's taught me how to read a runner when I see one."

"You're projecting."

"You're deflecting."

"You're an idiot."

"You are drunk."

"You kiss like a drunk walrus."

"Aww, that's sweet." The cold tone Emma's using counters her words.

"I hate you," Regina grumbles and slams back the glass, gulping the whiskey down.

"You sure this was only number three? Or was it four? Or five."

"Shut up, Swan."

"Right. So you are hammered. I'd say that explains the asshole that you're being but really, you're an asshole by nature, aren't you?" This time, she doesn't sound like she's teasing.

Because she's not; it'd been one thing for Regina to throw her past in her face when they'd been enemies, but now? After all they've been through? After what they've done together?

Including and not including the night that maybe should never have happened.

Now, drunk or not, Regina's words hurt, and she's having troubled hiding that.

Which, apparently, even Regina is noticing.

Her voice softens to something almost inaudible when she says, "Yes, so go away, Emma."

"Let me take you home."

Perhaps it was too soon to try to meet Regina in the middle – too soon to take the gentling of her tone as a cease fire. She is still drunk and angry and clearly all over the place and so it's not really a shock when she spits out, "Hoping for a nightcap, dear? Sorry, I have no use for -"

No, not a shock, but also not something Emma is in the mood for. "Shut up, Regina."

"Why? Am I wounding your pride?" She laughs, the sound cruel and alien to Emma – a reminder of a time so very long ago. When there'd been hate and anger instead of soft words and promises to always be there for each other. To never let the other one fall. Apparently oblivious to all of the heartbreak within the blonde (or perhaps because of it) Regina pushes on, "Did you really think your ill-gained back-room sexual expertise could ever begin to satisfy -"

"And to think that just three minutes ago, you were pissed off about me talking about what happened between us while in public and now you're practically yelling it out for everyone to hear," Emma drawls. "But it's time to go." She reaches down, takes the glass from Regina's hand and then pulls her to her her feet, ignoring the incredibly undignified (and insanely out of character for someone so refined) slapping and the struggling. She throws several twenties down on the counter-top and then – with significant force - yanks the furious woman from the bar.

"Get off of me," Regina growls, still struggling against her. Thankfully, she's inebriated enough to be of little actual threat.

"When I get you home, I'll be happy to get off of you."

"You sure you don't mean you'll be happy to get me off?"

"Damn sure. Let's go." She shoves Regina towards the Bug, feeling both satisfaction and revulsion at the way Regina stumbles.

But then Regina, who is now showing off just how completely hammered she is, says,"Oh? Have I insulted you? Are you feeling cheap, Miss Swan?"

"Yes. And thank you for that. Because no one else in my life ever has. Now get in. And try not to hit your head because right now, I probably won't give a shit. And I'm really trying to."

"Because you want to get laid again?"

"Because I do care about you, Regina. Though you sure as shit don't deserve it."

Regina meets her gaze evenly, the inebriation suddenly falling away to leave a woman who looks haunted and almost frightened. "You think I don't know that, Emma?"

Emma sighs and and takes a breath. Gently, "Please, get in."

"I do know it. Of course, I do. And that's why what happened was a mistake."

She doesn't give Emma a chance to respond – to even consider arguing with her - she just climbs into the Bug and shuts the door behind her, slumping against the window, sulking.

Emma thinks that she's not nearly strong enough for this.

But she supposes that she'll need to figure out how to be.

Because one of them has to be.

 

* * *

 

 

Henry's off fishing with his grandfather on the ocean and the timing has never been better because she figures that when Regina wakes up, they're going to finally have it out about this whole…mess. They have needed to do it since the night that everything had escalated and exploded into passion between them and now there's even more to discuss than there was.

Now there's so much raw hurt and Emma's trying so hard to separate emotion from the visuals that she can't seem to make go away no matter how hard she tries to make them.

But when she closes her eyes and tries not to think about Regina's harsh words, she can still see gentle hands and soft lips touching and she can still feel the smooth hard planes and angles of their bodies as they'd come together – melding and molding – so goddamned perfectly.

When she closes her eyes, she can still hear the harsh way Regina had been breathing, and she can still hear the Queen calling out her name and whispering in her ear for her to not stop.

Don't stop. Never stop.

It's too much to remember and think about (and it seems like she can't stop thinking about it no matter how she tries) and it'd be so much easier if she could pretend that it hadn't meant anything and it doesn't mean anything; it'd be simple if they could just toss it off as a mistake.

But she can't because even it was a just a mistake, it still does mean something.

Something that they need to understand if they're to move forward.

As co-mothers. As friends. As…well, who knows, right?

So she settles herself on the couch, and pulls a blanket up.

And waits for morning and the truth.

 

* * *

 

 

What she gets is ice old water on the face.

It's fairly rude and unnecessary but she shouldn't be surprised.

"Go home," she hears Regina say from above her, a now empty glass clutched in her hand.

"Good morning to you, too, Your Majesty," Emma coughs. She runs her hand through her messy hair, and then wipes a wash of water away from her bleary eyes. "A simple shake or maybe my name would have worked just as well. Who the hell throws water on a person?"

"Get up and go home," Regina retorts, her tone hard and her eyes pinched from an obvious pounding headache.

"Ugh. No. Not until we talk. But first, I need to pee."

"You may not use my bathroom."

"Then I'll use your shrubs."

"That's disgusting."

"Well, you've already made it clear what you think of me -"

Shame flashes over Regina's face and then disappears. "Fine."

"Fine, what?"

"Use one of the bathrooms."

"Thank you, Your Majesty; you're so very gracious." It's the second time within a minute that she's used that term, and the look on Regina's face indicates that she's not amused by the use of it at all, but Emma never really was good at stopping even when faced with bright red lights.

Regina grunts, then stalks towards the kitchen, yanking down a bottle of aspirin to kill her hangover, all of her motions dramatic and anrgy. When Emma hears the sound of a glass shattering a few minutes later, she's not at all surprised; apparently, the tantrum isn't yet over.

Well, all right, then.

"Am I that far beneath you?" Emma asks as she steps into the kitchen, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jeans. Her head is held high, even if she feels pretty low right now.

"What?"

"Are you pissed off that you slept with a street rat? Is that what this anger is all about?"

Regina sighs, the anger seeping away and leaving just resigned exhaustion and sadness behind. "Of course not. You're a princess."

Emma shakes her head in rejection of that, unwilling to let Regina escape so easily. "We both know that I'm no princess, Regina. I may have been born one, but it's just not who I am."

"Perhaps not, but it's who you should have been."

Emma frowns. "Why do I feel like we're having two different conversations here, Regina? Am I not good enough for you or am I too good for you? Because I thought I had it all figured out, but now I'm really so sure. What's going on? Am I not good enough or are you not?"

Regina lifts her head up, and looks right at Emma. "What do you think?"

"You don't want to know what I think."

"No, what I truly don't want is to be having this conversation with you at all, but here we are. I have a splitting headache and I wish you would go away, but you won't. So talk, Emma."

Emma shrugs her shoulders, her shoulders dipped low even as her head stays high. "As you said, I've got a lot of experience with stuff like what we did. Most of it pretty…questionable."

"Your point?"

"You're a Queen."

Regina scoffs at that. "I'm a mass murderer who cost you your entire childhood."

"You're the mother of my son. And you're…you're my friend."

"What happened wasn't…we weren't being friends, Emma."

"No, we were being more. Because we are more."

"Are you telling me you…what are you saying?"

Emma laughs, the sound less than humorous. "I have no idea. I don't know that I'm saying anything. I…just know when you kissed me, it never even occurred to me not to kiss you back."

"I wasn't thinking straight," Regina murmurs, but she doesn't sound like she's using that as an excuse for why she'd kissed Emma, but rather for why she'd allowed anything to happen.

Which…makes Emma wonder.

A lot.

"Maybe neither one of us was thinking straight. But it was a really nice night," Emma nods, thinking back to a pleasant evening spent drinking wine and having pleasant easy conversation about Henry and about the wins that they've shared and the lighter moments they've had.

It's been everything good about them and nothing bad.

So when Regina had let the emotions and the wine sway her and had leaned in for a kiss under a night full of stars, Emma truly hadn't hesitated in kissing her back. It'd been madness even then, but it'd just felt right and normal and so very good and then there'd been more.

And that, too, had felt like everything bright and full of color.

Nothing stays that way, though.

"You deserve better," Regina says, her voice painfully dull. "Anyone that isn't me."

"Maybe I think you deserve better."

"You can't possibly be serious."

"You've made it clear -"

"Because you're easy to hurt. You're easy to push away."

"Oh."

"You're not understanding what I'm saying. You want so very much to be good enough for everyone that comes into your life, Emma; you want that so much that you miss that you're already so much better than almost everyone - better than me - already by simply trying."

"I think we see things differently."

"Is there any doubt of that?"

"I don't want to be better than anyone. I just…want to be happy."

Regina smiles sadly at that, her eyes gleaming with wetness.

So Emma pushes again. "Why did you kiss me, Regina?"

"Why did you kiss me back, Emma?"

"Because you were warm."

"I don't -"

"You want the truth?"

Their eyes meet again and Regina nods. "From you? Always."

"Okay. I kissed you back because…you're you and…whatever you see when you look in the mirror, it isn't what I see. I see Regina Mills, my son's mother and my best friend. As for why? You have these amazingly soft hands and you were touching me with them…touching me like I was all you could you see and all you could ever want and it was in your eyes and your lips -"

"Emma -"

The blonde ignores her, taking a daring step towards her instead. "And you wanted me."

Regina swallows hard. "What is wrong with you?"

Emma pulls back. "What?"

"How do you not see what you are? How do you not know how -" she closes her eyes and tries to find the right words for what she's trying to say to her. "Emma, how do you not know?"

"Know what?"

"I kissed you because you make me feel warm. I kissed you that night because of everyone, you should hate me more than anyone ever has for what I cost you with your parents, but you look at me like you understand and like you see the good and the bad in me and you don't believe that either one of them fully defines me. You look at me like you really do think I'm just –"

"Regina," Emma says softly.

"Yes."

"You are. Regina."

"You should go," Regina tells her, her voice trembling, tears on her cheeks.

And Emma wonders – not for the first time – how she'd ever believed this woman to be without a soul. Now, all she sees are Regina's emotions. So forward and bold at all times.

So frighteningly vivid and fierce.

"If you want me to go, I will," Emma assures her.

"I don't, but I don't know where we go from here."

"They maybe we just have breakfast and we take a step back."

"And then what? Nothing changes."

"Everything has already changed," Emma insists with a wry smile. "We can't go back to what we were and just pretend we haven't been more. I don't want to do that, anyway; I don't. Because…because you are warm to me." She lifts up a hand and places it lightly on Regina's soft cheek. "See, still warm. Still Regina. And I still kind of like both of those things. A lot."

"And now you know why I drink; you're insufferable." Said with a bit of teasing now.

A bit of grudging affection.

Emma smiles. "I don't regret what happened between us, Regina. Not even a little bit."

"You should."

"My choice; I don't. Do you?"

"I should."

"Do you?"

"No."

"Good. Then I'm hungry. You owe me breakfast."

Regina tilts her head. "How do you figure?"

"Well, for starters, you were a dick to me last night."

"I was. And…I'm sorry. I hope you know that I don't think any of those things."

Emma looks down for a moment, stopped only by gently fingers on her chin.

"I don't care who you've slept with," Regina insists. "I never have. What you did before you came here to Storybrooke, it was you surviving. It was you looking for happiness or companionship or whatever it was you needed. You owe no one an explanation for that. But most certainly not me."

"What if I want to tell you about it?"

"I'll listen." Another soft smile. "I'm sorry. For...if you doubted yourself for even a moment, I'm sorry. I wanted that because I was afraid. I don't want that because...I don't want you hurt." She licks her lips, anxious and so very exposed. But honest, gods, so very honest.

"Hey, I'm okay," Emma assures her. "I am. Just don't –"

"I won't. I promise." Eyes sincere and bright.

The woman she has become, the woman who has fought to be Regina Mills.

Emma nods. Takes a breath, and then tries to lighten things up. "Aside and apart from that, you also kicked me out of bed the morning after; that's bad ju-ju. Everyone deserves breakfast."

Regina chuckles, decides to follow the change. "And who does that rule belong to?"

"Me. Don't roll your eyes at me. After all -" and now, she's pushing it, but she can't quite help herself. "I am 'your' sheriff."

"Ugh. Charmings," Regina grunts and steps towards the refrigerator.

She's stopped by a hand on her arm, pulling her back. "Hey."

"What?"

Emma kisses her so very sweetly on the lips. "Good morning."

Regina's eyes close and she breathes the same air Emma is.

She knows better.

Knows this is bad for both of them.

Knows that this will probably end terribly.

And oh, this isn't taking a step backwards at all.

This is forward instead, even if only an inch.

Without thinking, she finds herself leaning in and kissing Emma back.

Arms sliding around each other, pulling closer, their bodies flush.

"Good morning," she repeats, unable to stop a soft smile.

She knows better.

But then Emma's arms are tightening around her and everything is warm.

So warm.

Well, she never did learn her lessons well.

Probably never will, either.

**-Fin**


End file.
